The Gift
by Angelustatt
Summary: AU Set in S4. Christmas Fic. When all hope is gone, a gift from a stranger can be all that is needed.


_A/N: Definitely AU...it was Xmas fics with the boys that got me into this fandom. So it seemed only right to keep up the tradition. LOL Hope you all enjoy and Merry Christmas everyone! May it be safe and may you have time with those you love. _

**xxxxXXXXxxxx**

**Pontiac, Illinois. **

It was supposed to be the season of goodwill and cheer. A time when families were together.

Sam Winchester personally thought that was the biggest pile of horse puckey he had ever heard. All his life, he had tried to keep the Christmas spirit. Even last year, his last Christmas with Dean by his side, Sam had done his best to show that Christmas cheer and let them both just forget, for a even a tiny moment, that Dean had been facing Hell.

But really, they both had been.

Because life without Dean was like living in a void. Sam didn't feel alive anymore. He was merely existing. Stumbling from one day to the next with a bottle near by. Eating when he had to, because the food had all the flavour of cardboard now. His brother was in Hell and Sam couldn't bring him back.

What kind of a brother was he? How could he have failed Dean so miserably?

Walking the icy street at the moment was like trying to walk on the deck of a ship. Everything was rising and falling, slanting sideways….or maybe that was just Sam? The bottle of scotch clutched in one hand could possibly have something to do with it, but Sam wasn't really in a state of mind to give a shit. His footing slipped a moment later and Sam went down hard, the bottle shattered in his hand, his head kissing the sidewalk a moment later. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as he grunted in pain, tasting blood where he had bitten the inside of his cheek.

He was bitterly cold and wet now, the snow soaking through his jeans, sending his hands and face numb as Sam fought to push himself upright. Or at least to a sitting position…yeah, that would have been a start.

It was Christmas Eve….and Sam was all alone. It sucked beyond the telling.

Bobby had called earlier that evening, trying to find out where Sam was, trying to convince him to drop by South Dakota and spend Christmas with him. With the last semblance of family that Sam had now.

Sam had turned him down flat. How could he sit around Bobby's surrounded by memories of Dean, knowing where he was? Pretending to move on with his life when really, he was stagnating.

Oh sure, Sam had tried to move on. As soon as Dean was buried and all avenues of bringing his brother back had been exhausted, Sam had taken to the only thing he had left. Revenge.

He knew now, what had driven his father. Why the man had been so single minded. So pure in his need to kill Azazel.

Because that same burning desire had driven Sam for the past few months, led him to follow every damn lead he could find on her whereabouts.

And all for nothing.

Lilith was gone. Off the radar. A freaking ghost taunting Sam. Waving his brother's death in his face and laughing at how pathetic Sam was.

And he was pathetic. Sitting here in the snow on a side street, in the same town that Dean was buried near. Because Sam couldn't bring himself to be too far away from Dean at the moment, even it was only his grave he could be near. He had driven the Impala out to where Dean had been buried, sitting in front of that wooden cross and shedding tears of grief, anger and utter loneliness, before he had gotten rolling drunk and decided to walk back to town.

Dean would have killed him if he had driven the Impala while drunk.

The thought of that had Sam chuckling, before his face crumpled and the tears fell again. He lifted his bottle to take a drink, and found nothing but the broken neck of it still in his hands.

Oh yeah…he had fallen over. Right…gotta remember that.

"Give me your hand."

Sam looked up blearily, his vision swimming as he tried to take in the sight before him. Some guy in a trench coat was standing before him, hand outstretched. His hand was canted to one side as if he was studying Sam, intense blue eyes watching the younger hunter carefully.

"Why?"

"Would you prefer to sit in the snow? The temperature is still dropping rapidly, Sam Winchester. It's not safe for you out here. I shall walk you back to your motel."

"How…how'd you know m'name?" Sam slurred, almost tipping backwards as he tilted his head up to talk to the stranger. "Y…y-you're a…de..emon." It wasn't a question, but a tired statement. "Fine….kill me."

"I do not wish you harm, Sam Winchester. Quite the opposite. I'm here to guide you home safely."

"Wha? Why? Why would 'nyone gi' a shit 'bout me?" Sam asked before he let his head drop to his chest. "Dean. Dean cared…." Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, leaving tracks through the frost in his face. He felt himself being pulled to his feet, an arm slung over a shoulder…and then he was moving, heading back towards his motel room with a complete stranger. Why were they helping him? Was it just some good Samaritan? Then how did they know his name?

Sam was only half aware of what was happening by the time he returned to the motel room, noting that the temperature had changed before it sank in that he was inside at last. The room's heater was on and Sam was carefully sat in a chair in front of it as his body shivered. His jeans seemed to be clinging to him now, wet and uncomfortable.

The good Samaritan was in the small kitchenette and Sam could smell the sharp, bitter scent of coffee being made.

"I don' wan' any coffee." Sam shook his head, almost falling off his chair.

"You need coffee. Your body needs to be awake."

"Why?" Sam swivelled and fixed the stranger with a weary look. "Why do I nee' t'be awake? Hurts…hurts t'be awake." The scotch kept the thoughts away, helped drown the memories, the constant flashes of Dean's face that haunted Sam.

A cup of coffee was presented to him as the stranger crouched down before him. "Drink this."

"No."

"You would rather feel this way? Stay trapped in this pain?"

"What?" Sam peered drunkenly at the man, his eyes dark with confusion. "Who are you?"

"My name is Castiel and I am an Angel of the Lord." Castiel stated calmly as he pressed the coffee cup into Sam's hands.

"An' angel of the…." Sam suddenly burst into laughter, but it was choked with bitterness, his eyes clearing a little more as anger began to burn through his veins. "Shouldn' you be on a tree somewhere?"

Castiel allowed a small smile to curl the corner of his mouth. "Ah yes, the tradition that humans favor at this time of the year…"

"An' you don't?" Sam asked, sound surprised. "Y'don't celebrate the birth o' Jesus?"

"We have no need for your ceremonies or Santa Claus. We honour the Son of God in other ways." Castiel explained as he got to his feet. "Plus you have the date wrong…."

Sam laughed then, a more genuine sound that shook his shoulders slightly before he groaned and took a deep sip of coffee. He could feel the soft fuzziness of drunkeness slowly washing away. "Dean always said that too. " He looked up from the rim of his cup, folding his hands around it and absorbing the warmth it offered. "Why'd you help me?"

"You are needed, Sam Winchester."

"For hunting? Sorry…gave that away. Costs too much." Sam said darkly, knowing the bitterness in his mouth wasn't just the coffee.

"You are still needed, regardless."

"So what? You're here t' give me some kind of pep talk? A few rousing words from an Angeland I'm supposed to take up the cause? S'not happening…sorry." Sam ground out. He drained the rest of the coffee and threw Castiel an angry look. "Where the hell were you when Dean needed you? Why didn't God step in to save him?"

"Your brother made a deal, a contract like that must be honoured."

"Honoured? Dean died! He went to Hell! Why didn't God step in and save him? Why were you sent to drag me in off the streets, when Dean was left to die! What the hell have I been praying too all this time?" Sam snarled, launching to his feet and wavering dangerously as he loomed over Castiel. "Why were you sent to save me but not my brother?"

The fight went out of Sam then as he was overwhelmed with grief. Dean had always thought Sam was worth more than his own life and now it seemed Heaven itself was supporting that.

His knees buckled under him, dumping Sam back down in the seat behind him, almost spilling him to the floor before he was able to regain his balance.

Castiel placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, his eyes full of compassion as he spoke to Sam. "I was sent for you, Sam, because you will be needed in the coming fight. You stand at a crossroads at this moment and the war will be won or lost dependant on what road you chose to travel. I have been sent to give you a gift. It is the time for giving after all. God is sending you a gift Sam, in the hope you will make the right decision when the time comes."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "A gift? I don't…I don't understand."

Castiel gently pressed his fore and middle fingers to Sam's forehead. "Let me show you."

**xxxxXXXXxxxx**

Sam looked around, stunned to see that they were no longer in the motel room, but outside of Pontiac, standing only a few feet from the Impala. The muscle car's headlights were still on and Sam winced inwardly, knowing it would have been a bitch trying to get the car jumpstarted again if he had let the battery drain flat.

"Wait…you didn't bring me out here to save the battery, right?" Sam asked Castiel, feeling uneasy as to why he was there.

The only answer he received was the sound of wings flapping, before he turned to see that he was alone out here.

No….wait. Not alone.

There was figure hunched over in the headlights, curled in on itself, dirty. Huddled over Dean's grave…next to a hole….

"Hey!" Sam was moving forward, his fists clenched. "Hey, get away from there!" If some filthy damn demon had come here to touch Dean's body, Sam would make them regret it in ways that not even Azazel had thought of using on people.

The face that lifted up to look at Sam, stopped him in his tracks, his heart going perfectly still in his chest for a moment. Bright, green eyes looked at Sam, filling with recognition and confusion all at once as the figure spoke a name he hadn't heard in months.

"Sammy?"

"No…No way." Sam didn't dare to blink, to breathe at that moment. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. It was a trick. Some damn trick and Sam was too close to falling for it. Too close to believing that it was really Dean pulling himself up on his feet and looking at Sam as though he was seeing the best thing in the entire world.

"Sammy…what's happening? How…how did I get here? Did you do this? Did you bring me back somehow?"

No! No it wasn't Dean! Dean was dead. Sam had buried him, had sewn up the terrible wounds on his body and put his brother into the ground. Dean was dead.

"Sam…please. Say something."

"You're not Dean."

"Dude…it's me. I promise. It's me. I don't know how…but Sammy…please. It's really me."

Sam took a cautious step forward, then another, before he reached into the back of his jeans and drew out the knife Ruby had given them. He launched himself at Dean, knocking his brother to the ground as the two began to tumble and wrestle. Sam could feel the weakness in Dean's arms as he fought to keep the knife at bay, the desperation in his green eyes.

A knee caught Sam sharply in the side a moment before a hard punch to the jaw had Sam seeing stars and tumbling away. The knife was lost in the tussle to get away from Dean and get to his feet. He looked around wildly for the weapon, becoming still as he saw it in Dean's hand.

The pair were face to face, watching each other cautiously. Sam's gaze flickered between the knife and Dean's eyes, waiting for him to make his move.

Dean took a step back and straightened up, his face pained. "Sammy. It's me. It's really me, dude." With that, he took the knife and drew it sharply across his forearm, blood welling up instantly from the wound and spattering on the frosty white ground.

Sam's eyes widened. There had been no reaction from the knife. No glow…nothing. Just the normal wound a knife like that would cause on human flesh. Castiel's words came back to him in a rush.

I have been sent to give you gift. It is the time for giving after all. God is sending you a gift, Sam….

"Dean?" Sam took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest, his adam's apple bobbing up and down wildly as he fought to swallow around the lump closing up his throat.

"Hey, Sammy…"

And then there was no more space between them as Sam rushed forward and threw his arms around his brother, squeezing him tightly and feeling Dean's arms closing around him in return. Tears filled their eyes as the brother's clung to each other and took in the fact that Dean had been given a reprieve from Hell. He was alive.

Sam opened his eyes for a moment and saw Castiel standing just to the left of the Impala, his figure softly lit by the glow of the headlights. The Angel nodded to Sam and was gone.

But Sam knew it wouldn't be the last time they saw him…

"Come on, dude, let's get out of here. If we hurry? I think we can find a mini-mart open still. We need to get a few things…like eggnog."

"Eggnog?" Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Dude…what's the date?"

"It's Christmas eve, Dean. Come on…I'll even buy you some M&M's. We've got a lot to talk about." Sam smiled, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"Peanut ones, dude…no skimping on me now. Pie too if we can find it. I just got out of jail…it's time for some living." Dean grinned at his brother, nudging him softly in the ribs as they walked back to the car. He dropped his hand over her bonnet as he walked to the driver's door, his touch one of love. "Hey, baby…I missed you too."

The Impala erupted into life with a growl a moment later, before Dean's voice echoed over the engine. "Sam? What the hell is this?"

An Ipod sailed out the window a moment later, before ACDC filled the air and the Impala roared away towards town.


End file.
